Frank Merriwells Races | Page 2

smiled Frank.
"Your promise?"
"Exactly."
"What promise?"
"The one I made to myself when this horse enabled me to overtake a
runaway that was dragging Winifred Lee to danger and possible death.
This is the animal on which I pursued the runaway, and I took him
without asking leave of the owner. I vowed that if this horse enabled
me to catch and stop the runaway before Miss Lee was harmed I would
own the creature if it took my last dollar," he added.
"And that," cried Griswold, trying to strike a dramatic attitude--"that is
true love!"
"Well, I don't know as I blame you, Merriwell," admitted Bruce.
"Winifred Lee is a stunning girl. But it strikes me that the owner of the
horse swindled you."
A bit of additional color had risen to Frank's cheeks, and he looked

strikingly handsome. The boys knew it would not do to carry the joke
about Winnie Lee too far, and so they refrained.
"The man who owned the horse did not want to sell him at any price,"
explained Frank. "I induced him to set a price that he thought would
settle me, and then I snapped him up so quickly it took away his
breath."
"I should think your guardian would have kicked at throwing up a
thousand for such a purpose."
"He did," laughed Frank, looking at Diamond, who showed a little
confusion. "You remember that Jack, Rattleton and myself went on to
Springfield to meet him a few days ago?"
"And got arrested for kidnaping a baby!" chuckled Griswold. "That was
a corker. We didn't do a thing to you fellows when you got back here!"
"That's right," admitted Jack, dolefully. "Not a thing! You simply
marched us through the streets and onto the campus with a band and
banners and made a stunning show of us!"
"Well," said Frank, "Professor Scotch, my guardian, was so glad to get
out of the scrape when the judge discharged us that he gave up the
thousand without a flutter. That's how I got the money."
"Well," yawned Browning, "now you have the horse, you'll find him an
expensive piece of furniture. It takes money to take care of 'em and
feed 'em."
Diamond had been inspecting the gelding from all sides, surveying him
with the air of one who knows something about horses, and he now
asked:
"Has the creature a pedigree, old man?"
"Sure," nodded Frank. "Its pedigree is all right. I have it somewhere,
but I don't care so much for that."

"Oh, I don't know! It may prove of value to you some day."
"How?"
"Well, you may take a fancy to enter Nemo in a race or two."
"What then?"
"If he should win, you'll want his pedigree."
"I suppose that is right, but I am no sportsman of the turf; that is
professional. Amateur sports are good enough for me."
"Honest horse racing is one of the grandest sports in the world!" cried
Jack, with flashing eyes.
"Honest horse racing!" laughed Griswold. "What's that? Where do you
find anything like that?"
"Oh, there is such a thing."
"There may be, but people are not used to it."
"That's why I do not think much of horse racing," declared Frank.
"There are too many tricks to it to suit me."
"Oh, there are tricks to any sort of sport."
"Very few to college sports. If a man is caught at anything crooked it
means ruin for his college career, and he is sure to carry the stigma
through life. I tell you college sports are honest, and that is why they
are so favored by people of taste and refinement--people who care little
or nothing for professional sports. The public sees the earnestness, the
honesty, and the manhood in college sports and contests, and the
patrons of such sports know they are not being done out of their money
by a fake. Prize fighting in itself is not so bad, but the class of men who
follow it have brought disgrace and disrepute upon it. Fights are 'fixed'
in advance by these dishonest scoundrels, and the man who backs his
judgment with his money is likely to be done out of his coin by the

dirtiest kind of a deal."
"What makes me sore," said Diamond, "is that some sensational
newspapers should send professional bruisers to witness our college
football games and denounce them as more brutal than prize fights."
"That makes me a trifle warm under the collar," admitted Browning.
"But I don't suppose we should mind what that class of papers say.
Their motto is 'Anything for a sensation,' and the intelligent portion of
the newspaper readers is onto them. These papers have faked so many
things that they carry no weight when they do tell the truth."